Covering Home (7 page)

Marne was all business this morning, that’s for sure. While Japan would be all about Kentaro Hashimoto—wearing a Senators uniform—Marne reiterated that the network wanted in-depth coverage of both Caleb Scott and Hashimoto. Two baseball stars representing both countries yet garnering media attention for very different reasons.

Caleb’s profile as he stood next to her last night, admiring the view of Tokyo, popped into her mind. The curve of his wide, square jaw … that incredible cleft in his chin … not to mention those deep brown eyes—Britt stumbled and grabbed the handrails on the treadmill to regain her footing.

Ugh. This was also the same guy who avoided interviews like the plague and ended the night with a comment so asinine she’d gone back to her room and self-medicated with chocolate. Ridiculous. He might be nice to look at but she couldn’t let that distract her from focusing on her responsibilities as a sportscaster.

Right on cue, the door opened and Marne came in, dressed head to toe in black, her orange-red curls bouncing in time with her determined steps as she approached the treadmill.
Speaking of focused.
Marne waved and Britt tugged one of her ear buds free. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your workout, but we’ve got to be at the field in less than two hours. There are a few last minute things we need to go over.”

Translation: get off the treadmill and pay attention. “Sure.” Britt slowed from a jog to a walk and grabbed her bottled water from the holder. They’d reviewed players’ bios, analyzed statistics from last season’s performances, and discussed—at length—the cultural differences between Japanese and American audiences. What was left? But the crease in Marne’s brow meant she had a few things on her mind.

“Let’s talk some more about our approach to the post-game interview.”

“What about it?” Britt took a long drink from the water bottle.

Marne paused, finger hovering over the screen of her smartphone. “It’s imperative that we get a mic on Caleb Scott.”

The belt on the treadmill came to a complete stop and Britt hopped off. “Absolutely.”

“I think we can count on him putting up a fair amount of resistance.”

“Yep.” Britt drained the last of her water and tossed the bottle in the recycle bin by the door.

“I don’t think I have to remind you that we’re on thin ice here, Britt. This was a long shot from the beginning and the network won’t settle for anything less than complete coverage.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence
. Britt drew a calming breath and brought her foot toward her backside with one hand, concentrating on the stretch so she wouldn’t say what was on the tip of her tongue.

“I know Paul will be able to get a camera in his face, but—”

Whoa. So it was Paul’s job to make sure the interview happened? Britt lowered her foot to the ground and put her hand on Marne’s arm. “Do you trust me, Marn?”

Marne’s eyes traveled from her phone to Britt’s hand and finally met Britt’s gaze, a mixture of surprise and annoyance on her flushed face. “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘do you trust me?’ Because if you can’t trust me to do my job to the best of my ability, then maybe you should send Joe to get that interview.” Warning bells sounded in her head. She’d crossed a line there, but wasn’t about to turn back now.

“Of course I trust you. But it’s my job to—”

“I appreciate your attention to detail and all of your preparation for this trip. Our objective is to cover a three-game series. No matter who wins, we leave our viewers wanting more and eager to watch our next show. I’ll make it happen.”

Marne pressed her lips into a thin line.

Here it comes, the litany of reasons why she thinks I can’t get him to talk.

Finally Marne nodded. “Very well, then. It looks like we’re finished here.”

“Great. I’ll see you at the Dome.” Britt forced a smile, grabbed her phone from the treadmill’s console, and headed for the door.

Once outside the gym and away from Marne’s watchful eye, she huffed out a breath.
What were you thinking?
She jogged toward the elevator, shaking her head. She’d all but promised a post-game interview with Caleb Scott. How in the world was she going to convince him to participate?

Caleb stood in the tunnel outside the locker room and punched his fist into his baseball mitt. This was it. The moment he’d waited for and dreamed about. He’d spent countless hours in the weight room and on the mound, often wondering if he labored in vain. The noise from the crowd filtered into the Tokyo Dome, creating an atmosphere of excitement and enthusiasm that was almost palpable. He smoothed his free hand over the Seibu Rays logo embroidered on his white uniform and drew in a deep breath, trying to squelch the butterflies that flitted around in his stomach.

“You ready?” Aaron walked up next to him, still tucking his shirt into his waistband. Under the brim of his Rays baseball cap, Aaron’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Caleb could almost count on a prank being pulled, probably even before the game got underway.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Caleb said.

“Looks like a full house tonight.”

“The best kind to have.” Caleb punched his mitt again.

“Good luck out there, man.” Aaron clapped him on the back. “We can’t wait to see you throw some heat. Let’s do this thing.”

“Heat. Right.” Caleb adjusted his hat one more time and jogged after Aaron onto the field. The team lined up across the infield in a neat formation and began a well-orchestrated stretching routine. While Caleb lunged to one side, feeling the familiar tug in his leg muscles, he allowed his eyes to wander toward the seats behind home plate. Still empty. That’s okay. Ben was a big boy. He could fend for himself until the game started. Caleb had approved the outfit his twin had assembled for Operation Decoy. He shook his head. That should be interesting.

As the team began skipping down the baseline toward home plate, Caleb recognized the cameraman who worked with Britt. Careful not to collide with the player in front of him, Caleb quickly surveyed the people behind the mass of cameras stationed along the wall. Not a single willowy blonde female among them.

“Caleb, you keep secret from us.” Yoshi, the starting centerfielder, skipped alongside of him.

“What?” Caleb touched his foot on first base and pivoted back toward home plate.

“Oh, oh, oh, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive,” Aaron sang in an exaggerated falsetto and Yoshi giggled like an adolescent school boy.

Caleb dipped his chin so they wouldn’t see him smile. He had Ben to thank for that one.

“We Karaoke again tonight. Celebrate big win,” Yoshi said.

“We’ll see, Yoshi.”

After more stretching, they gathered again on the infield for Shin’s pre-game motivational speech. It was longer and more complex than those of his former American managers. Caleb was grateful for Jason, the team’s Japanese-American translator who came and stood with him and Aaron, delivering Shin’s speech in near-flawless English. As Shin finished speaking and Jason wrapped things up, his final sentence didn’t sit well with Caleb.

“Wait.” He touched Jason’s arm. “He mentioned Hashimoto quite a bit. Is that normal?”

Jason shrugged, eyes flicking between Aaron and Caleb. “This is Hashimoto’s home field. Today, Japan honors his homecoming. Even if he’s in a foreign uniform.”

Caleb nodded. “I see.”

Jason bowed slightly. “Good luck today. I’ll be in the dugout if you need me.”

After Jason was out of earshot, Caleb glanced at Aaron. “What do you suppose that means?”

“The Japanese emphasize respect and honor. You heard him. Today’s a big deal.” Aaron met his gaze and smiled. “But don’t let that slow you down.”

Pushing aside his uneasiness, Caleb jogged down the line toward the foul pole in the outfield. He was too restless to sit still and Taka didn’t have his catcher’s gear on yet. The crack of a bat on a baseball sent a jolt of excitement through him. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Caleb!”

He turned and found Taka waving at him, catcher’s mask in hand.

The butterflies ramped up their assault on his ribcage and he picked up his pace, jogging back toward his teammate. He caught sight of Ben slipping into his seat and waved. His heart expanded. It felt good to know his twin was in the front row, witnessing this huge milestone.

Taka tossed him a ball and they started warming up. The yellow, hazy lighting in the Dome took some getting used to, not to mention the lighter ball and shorter fields. He’d analyzed the strike zone from previous seasons, trying to get a feel for the nuances in the Japanese game. More importantly, he and Taka, with Jason’s help, had ironed out a system of signs they could both understand. Everything was coming together for him to pitch a great game.

Fans continued to stream toward their seats, a few of the rowdier sections already chanting, egged on by the mascot and cheerleaders who pranced around the field. Caleb noticed Britt and another broadcaster moving closer, headed for the bald man and his camera. He needed to put her out of his mind. Of course she’d be there covering the game, it was her job. But he couldn’t afford any distractions in his first outing as a Seibu Ray.

Shin called the team toward the dugout and Jason reappeared to translate. But Shin surprised them all by addressing the team in English.

“Caleb, I am taking this opportunity to wish you the best tonight. This is an exciting time to be a Seibu Ray. We are grateful to have you represent us on the mound.” A wide smile stretched across Shin’s broad face.

Caleb didn’t know what to say. He glanced at Jason for guidance.
Help.
No one had ever thanked him for his performance before he’d even thrown the first pitch. “Um, my pleasure,” he mumbled. The team huddled for their customary cheer, hands stacked in a pile. Caleb let out a hearty, “Rays!” before taking his place in line among the other starters.

The crowd roared as both teams took the field. Their plastic noisemakers banged together in a deafening cadence. Caleb’s extremities tingled. He jogged to the mound, then turned and faced home plate. Every fan was on their feet, no sign of their enthusiasm waning. He caught the ball that Taka threw him, savoring the sensation of rough stitches under his fingertips.

He could feel it, that mysterious other world competitive athletes referred to as ‘the zone.’ Distractions slipped away, the audience faded into the background and he became hyper-focused until it was just him and the first batter at the plate. Aaron’s words echoed in his head.
Let’s do this thing
.

Caleb’s first pitch left his fingertips at a speed that surprised even him. Low and inside, the Senators batter swung and missed. The next pitch was more of the same. With each strike he threw and every bellow of the umpire, he felt his confidence grow. Caleb knew in a matter of minutes that he hadn’t lost his magic. Three up, three down.

The teams traded positions and Caleb headed for the dugout, reveling in the celebratory cheers that echoed throughout the Dome.

He couldn’t understand a word they said, but the message was clear. Seibu Rays fans were very pleased. Caleb settled on the end of a bench, twisted off the cap on a bottle of Gatorade and chugged it down.

Shin made his way over, a satisfied smile on his face. “Well done.”

Caleb wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel and nodded. “Thank you.”

The Senators made short work of the Rays’ first three hitters and it was only a matter of minutes before he was back on the pitcher’s mound. The fans were on their feet, the volume at a fever pitch. They’d saved a generous helping of their enthusiasm for the hometown hero. Kentaro Hashimoto strolled confidently toward home plate and took several practice swings. He made a point of directing the tip of his bat toward the outfield wall and shot Caleb a meaningful glance.

“Whatever, dude,” Caleb murmured. He shook off Taka’s first sign, nodded in agreement at the next and then released his favorite pitch, the slider. Hashimoto whiffed it.
Sweet.
Caleb couldn’t slack off, though. This guy had every intention of hitting a home run. After two foul balls, Caleb sent a change-up right over home plate. Hashimoto swung, missed, and then ambled back toward the dugout.

“Yes!” Caleb shouted, ignoring the less than impressive response he received from the crowd.

Tyler Jeffries was the next batter. Caleb took great delight in striking him out, too.

He was on fire. His arm felt good, his back and legs were loose. Although he expected to feel well, the amount of control in his pitches buoyed his confidence.

The next batter, Wesley Harper, was a former teammate from their college days. If he knew anything about Wes, he expected him to swing for the fences.

Caleb gave Taka the nod, wound up, and let the ball fly. Wes got his barrel on it and swung hard. The ball sailed overhead, deep into center field. Caleb’s stomach sank. “No, no, no!”

Yoshi sprinted, tracking the ball, his glove outstretched as he raced to get under the fly ball. Caleb held his breath. At the last second, Yoshi went airborne before sprawling on his stomach. He snagged the ball in his glove and bounced up, grinning.